


Get The Job Done

by girlskylark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Assassin Lance, Bodyguard Shiro, Flirting, Hitman Lance, M/M, Sexy Times, Sniper Lance (Voltron), Sort Of, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: Lance is assigned to kill Shiro, but spies Keith through the scope instead.- - -Happy birthday Mogi!





	Get The Job Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSpace_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpace_Dragon/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTH MOGI I hope your day was stress-free. 
> 
> Dude I can't believe we've been friends for YEARS like there's a 89% chance that we went to the same high school in an alternate reality and got platonically married at the ripe old age of 79 in another reality. There's a 23% chance that I kicked down your door at some time, but that's only in the reality covers the 4.666% chance that I was a bodybuilder.

Nothing was _supposed_ to happen, aside from a dead target and a pleased boss. Lance McClain’s nights consisted of these two facts, but something _happened_. The routine was broken the instant his scope shifted from his target that night, and to the man standing beside him.

His target was _definitely_ something to look at—most of the time he was assigned to gross old geezers, since he was usually geared towards businesses that have been around for a while. An older target just meant that this guy knew what he was doing to stay alive this long. The risks were high, and Lance was evidence of that. He was one of the reasons why guys like his target circled themselves with guards and hid in the shadows.

His hair was graying, slicked back and showing the youthful complexion of a man Lance would kill to see in his bed in the morning. He licked his lips, biting into them to keep from purring at the thought. The man—Takashi Shirogane was the name on the ticket that night—had a face marred by a beautiful white scar cutting near his eye, rippling the flesh over his sharp cheekbones. He was laughing at something, and his smile showed the dimple on his cheek.

Pity. Lance really didn’t want to pluck a hair off that man’s gorgeous face.

 _Don’t be stupid_ , he told himself.

 _Just get the job done_.

 _You can find someone else_ —

Too curious for his own good, he drew the scope to the man standing beside Shirogane, the source of the laughter. And—

 _Shit_.

Lance pulled away from the stand his rifle was propped up on. He covered his gasp behind his hand, ducking behind the brick ledge from atop the apartment complex he snuck into. His heart lunged into his throat and nearly choked him before he was able to recover and catch his breath. Job be damned—he rushed back to the scope and trained it on where Shirogane held open the door for that all too familiar mullet.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. How long had it been since he saw that kid? Lance remembered how fucking head-over-heels he was for that kid back in middle school before he dropped off the face of the earth. He moved or something, but whatever the case, Lance could still recognize that hairstyle anywhere. It wasn’t like many guys had that gross emo haircut these days.

“What the hell’s he doing with Shirogane’s crowd?” he mused to himself as he kicked himself into gear. Time to investigate. He snapped the stand shut on his rifle and packed it all away in his bag along with the blanket he had laid out beneath him. He peered down at the street to see Shirogane pull open the opposite door and duck inside.

Lance all but sprinted down the stairs at the rate his mind was running. This seriously couldn’t be Keith Kogane from middle school. What were the chances? Maybe there was a smudge on the rifle’s scope— _no_ , that’s ridiculous. If anything, a smudge on the scope was the least likely thing to happen considering how well Lance cared for his guns. With the rifle now hooked around his shoulders, he zipped his jacket up before swinging out the apartment doors in time to see Keith and Shirogane’s vehicle turn the corner up the street with another vehicle following close behind.

Lance ducked into the alleyway and hopped on his bike. He had it ready for a quick getaway, so it didn’t take long for him to kick it in motion, and careen around the corner. His foot skimmed the asphalt before the bike straightened out and sent him cruising after the path Keith’s car took.

He was never given an absurd amount of information concerning his targets, aside from details that would help him track down and recognize who they were. Getting too involved in who his targets where meant learning facts he didn’t need to know of. He supposed these were mostly precautionary considering one ridiculously detrimental decision he made a while back that resulted in hatred from both sides. If he was going to kill, he let other people decide who. He wasn’t exactly a vigilante—his opinions and bias didn’t mean much until now.

He followed close until the car behind Keith’s noticed him. They pulled into the nearest parking lot, tucked between three buildings with most of the vehicles gone. They parked in the back where Lance removed his helmet and dismounted from his bike in time for one of the doors of Keith’s vehicle to swing open, and for Shirogane to step out.

“Why the hell are you following us?” he hissed at Lance, ignoring the guards that got out of the second vehicle to restrain Lance. Instead, Shirogane stormed straight past them to grab Lance by the lapels of his leather jacket.

“Whoa whoa, easy there,” he said, lifting both hands in surrender as his knees went weak. He wouldn’t mind getting manhandled by Shirogane, but he figured that could wait for later, and _not_ in the middle of a parking lot with the rest of the guards surrounding him.

One of them tore at his bag, and as he slackened his arms so they could pry it off, he said, “Care with that—! Be gentle with her.”

“With what? Who sent you?” Shirogane remarked as another car door slammed shut.

Lance watched as Keith came into view, circling the vehicles to approach the scene. He had his eyes down to his hands as he pulled on a pair of tight gloves and _yum_ , puberty did _wonders_ with that boy’s physique. His soft, boyish face was now framed by sharper dimensions—a rigid jawline, slimmer cheeks, and an Adam’s apple that bobbed when he cleared his throat and said, “Cool it, Shiro. I doubt he’s much of a threat if he was stupid enough to get himself caught.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lance laughed, and tipped his chin back when Shiro shook him. “I was sent by someone. You might have heard of them, or me, rather—”

“He’s got a long-range sniper rifle in his pack,” one of the guards said.

“Check the front pocket of the bag,” Lance said. “There should be a ticket.”

“A ticket?” Keith repeated. “You mean to convince me that _you’re_ The Lion?”

One of the guards slipped out a slip of paper with the torn edges that were recognizable as your average movie ticket. Keith stepped over and snatched it out of his hand, saying, “And who gave you my name?”

“The name on the ticket is actually for your friend here,” Lance said, nodding to Shirogane, who’s grasp loosened at the mention. They made eye contact before Shiro dropped his jacket lapels and reached for the ticket.

“Who the hell are you?” Keith demanded, keeping his distance as Shiro flipped the ticket around in his two fingers to read the other side. A metallic silver, embossing the letters that spelled out _LION_. You might call them limited edition—Lance didn’t hand them out to many people, and sometimes they flitted around into unwanted hands, but whatever the case, they were difficult to counterfeit.

“You already guessed it,” Lance said, “but I might look familiar to you because we’ve met?”

Keith narrowed his eyes at Lance, and flicked his gaze up and down the length of Lance’s leather jacket to his bluejeans that felt _way_ too tight now. Lance always thought Keith’s long eyelashes were pretty, but he didn’t expect to see them when they were finally face to face. Not to mention those wide shoulders and _narrow hips_ …

“Eyes up here,” Keith huffed, crossing his arms. “You do look a bit familiar.”

“Lance McClain?” he offered, patting a hand to his chest as Keith shrugged. “Middle school? Oh my God, we went to the same middle school and you don’t even remember me?”

Keith’s eyes widened in an instant, jaw dropping as he said, “ _Lance?_ The class clown?”

“Yeah! I saw you through the scope and I couldn’t believe it. I don’t take out people I know—or, I mean, people _associated_ with people I know,” he corrected, gesturing to Shirogane.

“Holy _fuck_ , what are you doing with your life? You’re… a hitman now?” Keith asked, laughing as Lance nodded. “Doesn’t that take some element of surprise? I don’t remember you being able to keep your mouth shut.”

“How do we know this ticket is even authentic?” Shirogane asked, passing it to Keith.

“It’s waterproof except for the spot where your name is written,” Lance said. “If you dunk it in water you can see my phone number, but it fades after the first go. There should be some remnants left.”

One of the guards got a bottle of water from the nearest car and passed it to Keith. He glanced up at Lance—through those long, _gorgeous_ eyelashes—before drizzling water over the ticket. Making the tickets were one of Lance’s least favorite tasks, which was one of the reasons why there were so few out there. Eventually the spot where the names are written would dissolve into a hole in the middle of the ticket, which was exactly what happened after Keith and Shirogane finished looking and passed it on to one of the guards.

“So you’re the real deal,” Keith commented. “And you said you don’t kill people you already know, right?”

“Those are the rules. Consequences be damned,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll have an unhappy customer on my hands after all this.”

“Do you… kill _for_ people you know?” he asked. One of Lance’s eyebrows lifted, and he spared a glance at Shirogane before Keith added, “I take it you don’t really know who I am, do you?”

Lance scoffed, crossing his arms. “I know who you are! I just—don’t usually get asked in person. It’s more of an over-the-phone type of deal. And I don’t see you carrying a ticket around, so…”

Keith snapped his fingers at one of the guards, and Lance realized it was to transfer the gun bag over to him. “You can’t exactly do much without your weapon, hm?” he commented, lifting the bag up as Lance watched it, and Keith’s black-gloved hands.

“You’d be surprised,” Lance all but purred, lifting his gaze up to meet Keith’s. After a moment, he let his gaze drift elsewhere, around them, and across the parking lot as Keith dismissed the guards to the cars—except for Shirogane. “Who do you need me to take care of?” he asked.

“This wouldn’t be _just_ a commission,” Keith said. “I’ve actually been in the market for one of your tickets so we could chat. You have an infamous record going on, you know.”

“People do talk,” Lance hummed with a shrug. “As I said, I haven’t had many unhappy clients until now. But you should know that I don’t work for any one guy.”

“Whatever your rate is, we’ll offer twice that,” Shirogane said, and that bold, authoritative voice had Lance weak at the knees again. “I can’t imagine you have much in the sense of ‘ _morals_ ,’ but we _aren’t_ the bad guys here.”

“You’re right—I don’t have much in the sense of ‘morals’. If I did I wouldn’t be in this business. But I’m not gonna let two pretty faces decide that I’m suddenly gonna become a vigilante,” Lance remarked, meeting Keith’s glare with one of his own. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, bad guys pay better than the good ones. Stakes are higher here than they are elsewhere.”

“In case _you_ haven’t figured it out, I am _not_ a good guy. So you better believe I’ll pay my share,” he hissed.

“And what would that share be?” Lance all but seethed, eyes flitting down to his gun bag at Keith’s feet. As he did so, Shirogane moved, pulling a pad of paper out of his pocket and drawing Lance’s eyes to his hands as he wrote something down, tore the paper, and handed it to him. Keith hoisted the bag up and shoved it into Lance’s startled hands before turning on his heels and heading for the car. He wrenched open the door, scowling at Lance over the roof of the car before ducking in and disappearing from Lance’s sight.

  


  


When Lance called the number Takashi Shirogane wrote down, he hadn’t expected to hear Keith’s voice on the other end of the line ordering him to write an address down before he hung up and left Lance too curious for his own good. He assumed it was some random, throwaway apartment in a dodgy part of town, so he opted to dress for the occasion—his favorite, jet-black pistol, a switchblade, and just to be safe, he kept a spare pack of ammunition attached to his hip. He zipped up his favorite olive-green army jacket, tied his combat boots, and spared a look in the mirror that had him cringing. He hadn’t changed much from training, and the jacket just seemed to throw him back to when he was eighteen years old and stupid enough to follow his passion for weapons and war movies.

When he got to the address, he hadn’t expected to look up and see a Hyatt Place neon sign above the overhang. He parked his bike and sat there staring at the hotel for a minute scratching the back of his head. He slapped his hands down and huffed to himself, “This isn’t what you think.”

When he got to the room number Keith listed, it was _definitely_ what he thought it was.

The door opened, and Lance swallowed hard and tried to chase back his rising blood pressure. This was… definitely Keith, and even middle school gym hadn’t prepared Lance for what nearly two decades would do to hone Keith’s _killer abs_. They were partially covered by the unzipped sweatshirt he wore. They both stood there in the open threshold until Keith glanced out at the hall before pulling Lance by the collar of his jacket. What was with Keith and his friend grabbing him by his clothes?

“I didn’t bring anyone with me,” Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes as Keith shut and locked the door.

“Have you reconsidered my offer?” he asked.

“Wow, straight to the point, huh?” he laughed, crossing his arms as he shrugged. “I don’t exactly know what _you’re_ offering, aside from a list of names.”

Lance’s eyes were constantly focusing between Keith’s _goddamn abs_ to his eyes until they honed in on the hand Keith used to push the sweatshirt off one shoulder and then the other before it dropped to the floor. His fingers tucked against the hem of his jeans before dipping to the zipper.

“I’m offering what Shiro said—twice whatever they pay you,” Keith said, and it took a serious force of will to get Lance to tear his gaze away from the strip of Keith’s red underwear he showed through the zipper. “Sex is only part of the deal if you accept. _Those_ are my terms.”

Keith’s pretty lips were red where he’d been biting into them while Lance perused everything Keith had to offer. He hated the idea that sex was just an object, but… Keith had it tied up in nice red bow and everything. The perfect present for someone who had, admittedly, thought of Keith for several years even after middle school in less than saintly ways before the thought of Keith eventually faded. But now he was back in the least expected way.

Keith dipped the hem of his jeans lower, pulling his underwear down with it to expose his happy trail inch by inch…

Lance inhaled a shuddering breath before looking up. Keith had his eyebrows raised challengingly, and Lance all but face palmed and hissed, “You aren’t exactly in the position for making deals right now.”

“Oh yeah?”

Lance slid up his jacket, revealing the pistol, and said, “I don’t see any of your guards around stopping me from doing _whatever the fuck I want—_ ”

“And you think I’d let you?” Keith laughed, tipping his head to the side. “I don’t need guards to protect me. They’re just for show.”

“Really now? I get that you’re a convincing talker but… you don’t exactly look like the fighting type,” Lance said, and when Keith’s jaw dropped in offense, he laughed and said, “What? I’m only tellin’ it like it is.”

Keith crossed his arms, saying, “If you wanna find out for yourself…” He stepped back from Lance, dropping his arms in an open gesture of _come on and fight me_.

“Are you serious?” Lance said, and when Keith nodded, he couldn’t _not_ take that challenge, especially not when Keith was looking _so_ hot, shirtless and furious with Lance. “You’re serious. All right, okay. Don’t say I didn’t—”

Lance grabbed for Keith’s arm, but he swept to the side like the cutting edge of a blade, twisting to the side and dodging every advance of Lance’s before finally Keith swung his arm out. He deflected Lance’s hand, grabbed him by the elbow, and slammed it back into the wall. Keith jabbed the knuckle of two fingers into Lance’s hand he tried to stop him with, pinning it to the wall. He swept a hand down, and there came the _shink_ of a switchblade coming loose and pressed beneath Lance’s chin.

Lance caught the hint of the familiar switchblade handle caught in Keith’s hand. Their eyes met as Lance turned his chin up, accepting the cool touch of the knife against his flesh. Keith’s scowl broke into a sly grin as Lance gawked and said, “Oh, you’re _on_.”

When their lips met, Lance surrendered to just about anything Keith asked of him. He let himself fall against the bed with Keith between his knees so long as he could feel Keith’s hands drag down his arms, exposing his skin as the fabric of his jacket came off. He would do anything if it meant this wouldn’t be the last time Keith dipped his tongue into Lance’s mouth and took the taste with him down the length of Lance’s neck. He’d _kill_ for them to fuck again if it meant he’d get to bask in the glow of after-sex with Keith beside him in some nondescript hotel room that was no different from the next, and the next, and the next—

—to wherever Keith’s hit list took him.

**Author's Note:**

> Wowee now that's dedication.


End file.
